He stopped with her when she stalled her movements.
They were totally clogging the entrance, so she pulled him aside. Right next to the champagne fountain.
Stilettos be damned. She made a mental notation never to wear them again when there would be good booze offered freely in fountain form.
“I just didn’t mean that you should bring me something as dramatic as this.” She touched the diamond at her throat—the biggest of the bunch.
“You know, there’s a story here. My mom’s meemaw bought that necklace. Came straight from the Titanic. Lots of history with this diamond.”
Holy crap. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m not serious. It came from a jewelry store.” He chuckled. “It’s just a necklace. It’s my necklace. Don’t make it a big deal, babe.” He put emphasis on the last word, just as she always did.
She smacked him gently on the shoulder. “I can’t believe you. The Titanic? Really, babe?”
“Your face was worth the price of admission to that little white lie.” He grabbed two flutes of champagne before he led her past the fountain to a room filled with banquet tables, decorated with tons of sparking lights, and more roses than she’d ever seen in one place before.
“You know, every year there’s a theme for this event.
Can you guess what this year’s theme is?” Molly shook her head. “Titanic?”
“Ha. No.” His eyes got heavy-lidded as he leaned in to whisper, “Romeo and Juliet.”
“Seriously?” She took a deep breath, the diamonds on her chest pressing into her skin with the movement. “That play does not have a happy ending.”
He shrugged. “Happy endings come in many shapes, don’t you think?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Because there’s no one left to enjoy the love story at the end. They’re all poisoned.”
“Or maybe…” He slid one glass of champagne into her palm.
Thank hell. She’d just go barefoot once the bubbles hit.
She took a sip of the champagne. This was not the cheap stuff. This was the dry deliciousness of Dom Perignon.
“Maybe,” he continued, “the theme of falling in love with the right person surpasses everything else. Everything that happens afterward.”
The bubbles in her glass sparkled, popping at the surface.
“You think that?” she asked.
“I do.” He lifted his own champagne flute to his lips. “Don’t you?”
“No,” she said firmly. “I don’t. I think it’s sad. They could’ve been happy with other people. They could’ve lived long, full lives and everyone would’ve made it to old age without having poisoned themselves to make a point.”
“Would they really have been happy though?” he asked. “You can spend a lot of time with the wrong person and think you’re happy. But really, deep down, it’s all pretend.”
“Like us.” Molly clinked her glass to his.
“No, Molly.” His boardroom tone was all business. “Not like us. Not anymore.”
Her mouth went dry. And not because of the champagne. Because she didn’t quite know what to do with that.
And she worried he wasn’t wrong.
CHAPTER 21
MOLLY
